Can I be brutally honest for a moment? The church can be a
terrifying place when you are broken by mental illness. It can be hard place if
you are struggling addiction. It can be a scary place to share your struggles
in loving someone with a mental illness. The place that should be a place of
comfort, respite, and healing is more often a place of condemnation and gossip.
Why? Because we really don’t understand mental illness. And
because we don’t fully understand the neurobiological disorders, we often are
quick to pass judgment or give really poor advice.
Monday I was finishing up a meal with my husband on a rare
evening with no kids. I had overindulged on chips and salsa (my own form of
self-medicating), and I was ready for a leisurely walk in the beautiful evening
and then on to enjoy a truly quiet evening at home. But as we were leaving the
restaurant I received news that Robin Williams had committed suicide.
My reaction was I don’t want to believe this tragedy is real.
I wanted to have one more beautiful evening where Robin Williams was still
alive and would erupt in hilarity on some talk show or give a moving dramatic
performance in an upcoming flick. For everyone who enjoyed the depth and
breadth of his characters, the loss seems surreal. His close friends and family
are dealing with a grief that is beyond words.
Even though Mr. Williams had been open about his struggles
with alcohol and even depression, the news that he committed suicide was
shocking. But it has hopefully helped open up a discussion about the pain and
reality of depression, and the truth about how little we really understand
mental illness. If such a beloved actor that gave his time and talents to help
others that were hurting could be tormented by this often misunderstood
illness, anyone could experience the pain of depression or other mental
illness. If the man who brought Patch Adams and the Genie to life couldn’t just
“be happy and get over it”, then we need to realize that such ill-given
sentiments help no one.
His death shows that mental illness is no reflection on how many people care for you. Mr.
Williams had the adoration of millions, not to mention close friends and family
that cared deeply for him. Yet somewhere in the neurobiology of his brain, none
of that mattered. I don’t assume to know what he was going through, but I do
know it wasn’t a lack of people that loved him that caused his depression. So
many times people that commit suicide are loved deeply by their friends and
family, but somewhere in the chemistry of their brain the reality becomes
clouded and the message they receive is “you are unlovable.” I have cried over
loved ones in the depths of their illness, begging them to try to grasp that
their brain was lying to them about reality, that despite the internal messages
they were receiving, that they were loved deeply by their family. For the
person in the middle of the illness, the feelings of despair and loneliness are
real to them. That is their reality.
The most loving thing we can do, especially within the
church, is to try to understand mental illness better, and realize there is
probably more that is unknown than known in the realm of neurobiological
disorders. We need to remove the stigma of mental illness and make the church a
safe place to be broken. Church needs to be a place where we can come with all
of our baggage, sadness, illness, and altered reality and receive support, not
condemnation. To have people understand that there is a physical problem
manifesting in emotional and relational problems. We need to be a place where
people can share their struggles with mental illness and addictions, and know
that their struggles will be handled with grace and love and not become gossip
fodder.
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